


Disasterology

by shutthefrukup



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Punk AU, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, derealization disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutthefrukup/pseuds/shutthefrukup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19-year old Arthur Kirkland is angry at the world, his family, and his job at Hot Topic at the local mall. He's just some no-good punk with a bad reputation and wants nothing more than to play professionally with his punk rock band. He's working at Hot Topic one day when he notices somebody admiring him from afar. </p><p>20-year old Francis Bonnefoy is rich and talented and has everything he could ever want. Well, everything besides an acceptance letter to the top fashion school in Paris. With his successful parents always busy, Francis is left with a job at Armani at the local mall. He's working one day when he spies the ugliest human being alive working across from him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Can we create something beautiful  
> And Destroy it?"  
> ~ Disasterology

The mall opened every day at 10:00 am. It closed at 9:00pm and closed an hour early on Sundays. There was a food court, kiosks selling unnecessary items, and a massive Best Buy. It was all a mall could be including the crying babies and the GAP store where nobody shopped anymore. There was the Kay Jewelers that you may recall hearing about from their infectious yet annoying jingle that plays at least twenty times at movie theaters. This mall was no exception to Bath and Body Works where there were plenty of overly-friendly workers shoving lotions down the throats of innocent shoppers. Hollister supplied the mall's music and promised its' highest prices and most deadly cologne to young shoppers. It was a mall at its finest. Well, however fine a mall could be. 

Around the corner from Auntie Annie's and across from Armani was Hot Topic. You know that store that's just as dark as Hollister but with more emo? Yep, that's the one. It was the grand old 7:00 until closing time shift for a zombie-like Hot Topic employee. Arthur Kirkland hated his job. To be quite honest, he hated everything. He was stuck at his terrible job at Emos-R-Us. Some mediocre screamo band supplied the musical accompaniment as a couple of shoppers looked around the store. Arthur sat behind the counter at the register, looking around the store with intense boredom. Boredom can be intense. Anything could be intense for a scary-looking fellow like Arthur. He wasn't a warm and fuzzy guy considering that he hated everything and had to work at Goth-Mart in the mall. These were good reasons to be scary and intensely bored.

The screamo song playing in the store had started to piss him off so Arthur went to change it. One of the good things about working at Hot Topic was getting to listen to music all day and getting discounts on vinyl records. He changed the music to Black Flag and went to sit back down. He kicked his combat boot-clad feet up on to the register counter as he lounged back on his stool against the other side of the counter. A rampant guitar shredding filled the store as he sat back and closed his eyes. 

"No sleeping on the job, dickhead." 

Arthur opened his eyes and sat up. His co-worker, Lukas, was standing on the other side of the counter carrying a large box. Lukas was a pretty cool guy. He had tattoos like Arthur did and wore an iron cross in his hair. Lukas was also a big believer in mythology and the supernatural and would talk to Arthur about this when work became particularly slow. 

"Piss off." Arthur growled.

He scowled at Lukas and his coworker just ignored him and his usual bad temper. Lukas put the cardboard box he was carrying on the counter and opened it up. Arthur became curious and went to go peek inside. The box was filled with skinny jeans. Arthur looked up and gave Lukas a questioning look to say, 'why the fuck do we have a box of skinny jeans?' 

"Why the fuck do you have a box of skinny jeans?" Arthur asked, taking a pair out of the box.

Lukas snatched the jeans from him and shoved them back in the box. "It's for our annual Get In Our Pants promotion. We have a sale on jeans and we also have a contest for a new band for us to support. Now go unpack these on the front display over there. There are also posters we need hang up." 

Arthur grumbled as he picked up the box and went to the front of the store. He might as well do some actual work to keep himself busy. The display at the front of the store was the first thing that customers saw when they walked in the door. Arthur began to fold multicolored, patterned, ripped, and just plain black skinny jeans and put them on the display table. He saw that Lukas had already put signs up in front advertising Get In Our Pants. Arthur rolled his eyes at the ridiculous name and continued folding. He let his eyes wander across the mall as he worked. Across from Scene-Pre-Teen-Paradise was a fancy Armani store. He had never stepped in one of those stores in his life. Arthur wasn't the suit-and-tie type or the cologne type or the fancy type in general. He didn't even have a type. Armani looked too expensive for him and too dressy as well. He could see through the mall-style glass doors of the store and saw fancy clothing on display along with posh accessories that he could never afford. He couldn't even afford a speck of Armani dust in the air. It wasn't like it even mattered because he didn't care. Arthur was about to turn away when he noticed somebody staring at him from the Armani store.

Working across the way was a tall and handsome looking young guy. He was folding pants and shirts just like Arthur was. Arthur noticed him staring and shot him a nasty look. If there was anything Arthur was particularly good at, it was giving nasty looks. Hell, he could start his own business of nasty look-giving. The guy working at Armani was dressed in something nicer than he would ever be able to afford. Mr. Handsome Armani Worker returned his rude glare with a cute little wink and then turned around to get back to work. Arthur felt his cheeks go red. Who did that asshole think he was? Just go around winking like he was some kind of hot shit? How arrogant. He could beat the shit out of that guy. Just seeing that guy made Arthur angry. To be fair though, there wasn't much that didn't make Arthur angry. He just grumbled to himself again and turned to finish his folding. Arthur hoped that man wouldn't bother him again tomorrow as Arthur had his long shift then. Another afternoon at Teen-Angst-Express had made him too angry for his own good. Luckily the mall would be closing soon. 

````````````````````````````

It starts with underwear. Blue boxers, Calvin Klein. Then it's pants. It's the pants that work requires so it has to be Armani. There are commandments for the work uniform. Thou shalt not eat spaghetti in your work pants. Thou shalt not spill coffee on your work pants. Thou shalt not wear your work pants on a hot date. It doesn't matter if she's some kind of west-coast beach-blond babe or a goddamn model off the runway in Paris. Thou shalt not wear your work pants anywhere but work. The shirt comes after the belt. The shirt is white, fitted to exact measurements, and costs about $175 with employee discount. Thou shalt not drink coffee in the work shirt either. The same rules apply to the shirt that apply to the pants. After the shirt there is a bit of Ralph Lauren cologne splashed on around the neck and the upper body area. Next comes the tie. It's pale blue like the underwear. Ties are bothersome but it doesn't matter now. You do up the tie and slip into the suit jacket. It's black and it's fitted like the shirt. It's not comfortable but like the tie, it doesn't matter. Black dress shoes go on and it's out the door. On the way to work, you stop to get a coffee and drink it in your work clothes.

Francis looked good. He looked so good you could devour him in one bite, or let him devour you. Normally he was the one who preferred to do the devouring. Francis had his long shift at the mall today. He was there from the minute it opened until three o'clock pm. He finished his coffee as he swooped into the store in his usual fashion of being a couple minutes late. He was thankful his boss didn't get there until a few minutes later after him. The morning began off as normal. Armani was bright and clean and smelled heavily of fancy cologne and leather. A pretty girl came into the store, laden with shopping bags, of which Francis had ever-so-kindly held for her as she tried on a pretty dress. It was, as Francis told her, 'a pretty dress for a pretty girl.' He was a good salesman. Or just a good flirt. Or maybe a combo of the two. 

"Hey, bastard! That was my customer." 

Francis turned from where he was to see his fellow employee approaching him. He wore a frown but his eyes were light. Lovino Vargas was always in a seemingly poor mood but could put on a charm for customers of the female sort. Lovino stood next to Francis and crossed his arms over the expensive black suit he wore. 

"Well maybe you should stop napping in the storage room." Francis said with a small grin creeping on to his face. 

Lovino gave him a light shove even though he knew Francis was just messing with him. He brushed past Francis and went to the front display of the store. Francis followed him and stood to observe the front display. 

"We need to change this. We are putting out the winter collections and the displays need to be changed someone. I am putting you in charge of that for the rest of the day." Lovino instructed. 

Francis sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you do not want to keep me occupied so you can flirt with pretty girls?" 

Lovino glared at him and shoved a now last-season shirt at him. "Get on it bastard. Now." 

Francis took the shirt and re-folded it. Once Lovino was out of his hair he began to work on rearranging the front display with new winter collection clothes. His mind wandered to yesterday as he began to fold. Oh, how could he have forgotten yesterday. Suddenly it had become Friday evening again. Francis was smoothing out suit jackets and hanging up furs. That's when he saw him. It hadn't been dramatic or romantic at all. He had only looked across the mall. See, across from Armani was Hot Topic. Francis preferred to call it the "Scary Goth" store. It was too dark in there and looked menacing although he had never once put one foot inside. 

But yesterday had been different. He had looked over to Scary Goth Store for some strange reason and saw a young man outside. The young man was one of the ugliest human beings Francis had ever seen in his life. The young man was about his age but looked absolutely frightening. He had choppy blond hair that looked like 80's-90's punk rock brought back from the grave. The boy had too many piercings on his face and too many tattoos on his body. He was a disaster. He was one of the weirdest people Francis had ever seen. Yes, he was ugly and he had rather large eyebrows that Francis didn't even dare think about. But he had potential to be beautiful. Francis liked to see potential beauty in people. This young man working at Scary Goth Store would have looked absolutely delicious in an Armani suit and as said before, Francis loved devouring. 

With a quick shake of the head, Francis focused himself back on his job. It was dull and bland like dry chicken. A small part of him secretly wished that maybe he would see Ugly Punk Boy again today. He would just have to wish. Sweaters got folded and pants smoothed of creases. Scarves hung around the necks of mannequins and bottle of cologne were on display. Francis was almost done with the grand front display when he turned around to look across the way to Scary Goth Store. Sure enough, Ugly Punk Boy was there. He was just as ugly as he was yesterday. He had a nasty look on his face and appeared so angry that it made Francis' skin crawl. Ugly Punk Boy was greeting a couple teenage girls with multi-colored hair. He didn't seem to be a cheery employee. Francis watched as he talked to the customers for a minute and imagined what he would look like without so many piercings. Francis imagined him in one of the Armani suits on display. Ugly Punk Boy would be Better Looking Punk Boy in one of the winter collection sweaters. As if Ugly Punk Boy could feel him staring, he whipped around to glare right at Francis. Francis' eyes grew wide. He had noticed him staring. Oh dear, he would be angry. Of course Francis was right and Ugly Punk Boy flipped him off before turning around and venturing into the depths of the store. There was only one solution to getting closer to Ugly Punk Boy and that one solution was food.

It was Francis' lunch break at about 12 noon exactly. He had first break and then Lovino had his after. Lovino was always on break, considering the amount of naps he took. Often times he would be awoken in the storage room by having a fancy leather show thrown at him. He would rise in a fit of rage and yell at Francis until he got bored of it and went back to sleep. Somehow the store continued to be operational and popular. 

Anyway, it was lunch break and Francis was determined to face his fears. His fears were that of entering Scary Goth Store. Talking to Ugly Punk Boy would be a breeze but Francis was not sure he could handle being around all those black clothes and My Little Pony plushies. He was going to have to face his fears once and for all if he was to confront Ugly Punk Boy. Francis went to the food court like he did every day during his short break. He did not go to the food court for the food or to eat lunch there at all. In the Parkview Mall food court was a Taco Bell. At this particular Taco Bell were two young men who just so happened to personally know Francis Bonnefoy. Well, maybe a bit more than just personally. Antonio Carriedo worked the register at Taco Bell. Behind him and busy filling orders of Doritos Locos Tacos and Burrito Supremes was another boy. Gilbert Beilschmidt had wild white hair and a knack for cursing too loudly when Antonio yelled at him to hurry up. This happened quite often during the lunch rush. 

"Hi, what do you have zhat will win ze heart of a cute boy?" Francis asked Antonio as he sidled up to the register to order. 

Antonio rolled his eyes and laughed at his friend. "You sound very French today. You must really like this boy." 

"He's not zhat cute. Now give me a burrito." Francis demanded and pulled out his wallet.

"Sheesh, customers are so rude these days," Antonio mumbled to himself before turning around and yelling to Gilbert, "one burrito!"

"If you would give me a damn second!" Gilbert from the back and both of them laughed. 

Francis waited for a moment and got his burrito. Antonio wished him good luck with Ugly Punk Boy and Francis dashed off to Scary Goth Store. The store was surprisingly busy at this time of day. Francis took a deep breath and walked into the store immediately his ears began to burn off. There was the most god-awful music he had ever heard playing. It was like a mix of screamo and a Mexican folk song with some screechy-voiced singer. He had only been in the store for two seconds and Francis hated it. It was too dark and filled with strange people. His plan was not going as smoothly as he thought it would at 11 o'clock this morning. Sure enough, Punk Boy was on shift and was ringing up a customer. Francis went to wait in line at the register. Punk Boy was too preoccupied to notice him. When it was his turn in line, he leaned on the counter and gave his typical Prince-Charming-type grin .

"Bonjour mon cheri, I noticed you yesterday and wanted to come say hi." Francis cooed, playing up the whole charming French boy thing.

Punk Boy glared up at him. His colossal eyebrows furrowed and a scowl appeared on his face. "Are you going to buy anything?"

Oh dear lord. He was British. 

"Mon Dieu! You're British!" Francis exclaimed with both horror and realization.

"If you're not going to buy anything then fuck off, Frenchy." Punk Boy growled.

Francis threw the burrito onto the counter as a peace offering. "I brought you Taco Bell!" 

"That stuff makes you fat." 

Punk Boy pushed it off the counter and it landed on the floor with a splat. Francis could feel a few customers beginning to stare. He picked up the burrito and leaned on the counter again. His plan to talk to Punk Boy was not working.

"May I at least know your name so I can give you discount on a suit?" Francis continued.

"No. I don't wear suits and if you don't leave now I will call mall security and kick your ass so hard after my shift that you won't be able to shit for a week. Now piss off." Punk Boy growled at him.

Just as Francis was about to leave, another employee came over to them. He was a little bit shorter than Punk Boy but looked just as scary. This employee gave Francis a weird look and then looked at Punk Boy.

"Arthur do you need some help over here?" The employee asked.

Arthur. Ugly British Punk Boy's name was Arthur. It sounded too proper for a boy with that much metal in his ears. Francis smirked at Arthur who was now glaring at him with a look of death in his eyes. 

"No I was just leaving. See you around, Arthur." Francis said with a smug grin.

He gave Arthur a little wave with his fingers and left the store. Francis went back to work but didn't look over to Scary Goth Store for the rest of the day. Arthur. His name was Arthur. Ugly British Arthur. Stupid Punk Boy Arthur. Maybe he would try another burrito tomorrow. 

``````````````````````````

It was the middle of Wednesday. Arthur was tired and wanted to throw a brick at somebody's head. Preferably Francis Bonnefoys' head. That French idiot hadn't stopped bothering him for the past week and a half. Every day he would give him a stupid little smile and wink from his own store. He even tried to come back into The-Rawr-Means- I- Love-You-In-Dinosaur-Emporium one day with a coffee for Arthur. Arthur wasn't buying any of it. This guy was fake to the bone and not worth any of Arthur's time. There were few people worth Arthur's time. Francis was also just an annoying guy which added to the mile long list of irrational reasons to hate him. 

It technically wasn't Arthur's break but he had sneaked out of work today. Work was becoming a bother but it was the one thing he needed to keep doing. School had been out of the picture since he had dropped out Senior year. Now the only true commitment he had was this crappy job at the mall. Arthur was on an unofficial break behind the food court dumpsters. There were rarely people back there so it was peaceful and quiet. Arthur stood with his back resting against the atrocious-smelling dumpster. It wasn't like he smelled any better. He was wrapped in his favorite leather jacket as he usually was. The mid-January chill seeped in through the leather and bit at Arthur's bones. As most things in his life went, he did not care. Instead of caring he pulled a lighter of his pocket and lit a cigarette. Arthur took a few puffs to get it going, then took one long drag. The stuff he smoked was cheap and didn't taste great but it made him feel better. It was strange how something could make you feel better about being yourself even if it was just a cup of tea or a cheap cigarette. Arthur shouldn't have been smoking, but did you really think he took that into consideration? If you guessed no then you win the million dollar cash prize. 

Arthur closed his eyes and rested his head against the dumpster. Every time he closed his eyes he pictured the world burning and smiled to himself. Chaos was a good answer to things you'd rather not think about. He took another puff off his cigarette. Damn, was it cold out. That was when somebody else broke the silence.

"So zis is where you come to hide?" 

Arthur opened his eyes and scowled. Approaching him was that French douchebag who had bothered him all week. Frenchy the Frog walked and smiled like a cat of the Cheshire sort. Quite frankly, that pissed Arthur off for a reason he couldn't quite put his fist on. 

"Fuck off." Arthur said, looking away from him.

Instead of getting the hint, Francis sidled right up to him nice and close. Unlike the weather, Francis was warm and smelled of expensive women's perfume. Arthur slid away from the Frenchman.

"No, please, I just want to talk...and apologize." Francis looked at Arthur with big blue puppy eyes.

Arthur frowned. "You want to apologize for being such a dickhead?" 

Francis looked down and grinned. "Yes, I am sorry. I just wanted to talk to you."

"Well we're talking now." Arthur pointed out in his typical wise-ass manner. 

"Yes we are," Francis said with a shrug, "how old are you, by ze way?" 

Arthur's glare was unwavering as he took another puff of his cigarette. "Nineteen."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "You're smoking?" 

"No shit, frog-face." Arthur snorted.

"Excuse me? Frog-face?" Francis chuckled with disbelief.

Arthur shoved his empty hand into his pocket and looked away from Francis. "Yeah. Frog-face. Got a problem?"

Francis was about to reply, but then decided against it. Instead he reached into his own coat pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. These were the more expensive kind with a better taste. Francis held his hand out to Arthur who nodded with understanding. Arthur pulled his lighter out and put it in the palm of Francis' hand. For a second their fingers brushed and Francis' cheeks felt warm. Francis looked up and flashed Arthur a charming smile.

"Merci, though I shouldn't be smoking either. It's not goof for you." Francis said.

He lit his own cigarette and leaned against the dumpster like Arthur. Arthur watched Francis puff on the cigarette, then take a drag of it and begin to blow perfect little rings into the sky.

"Where'd you learn that?" Arthur asked him.

"France." 

"So you're really from France?"

Francis shook his head at Arthur and chuckled. "Did you sink ze accent was just for show?" 

"Wouldn't put it past you." Arthur said with a shrug. 

"I am really from France. Are you really from England?" Francis asked him.

"Born there." 

Francis was going to ask him more questions but he had a feeling that Arthur would not answer him. So with that, Francis moved away from the dumpster and faced Arthur straight on. 

"Do you need a ride home?" Francis asked.

Arthur shook his head. He dropped his finished cigarette to the pavement and crushed it with the heel of his boot. 

"I'm fine thanks. I've got a ride." 

Arthur walked past Francis without another word to head back inside and finish up his shift. Francis didn't say anything either. He had so many questions he had still wanted to ask. There were still things he wanted to talk about with Arthur. Or maybe he just wanted conversation with somebody but there was nobody better to converse with. Francis turned with an exasperated sigh and went back inside. He would get an interesting conversation out of Arthur somehow.

That night at the Bonnefoy's house was like any other night. Mrs. Bonnefoy was not home. Her company had called her to Milan for business on a last minute notice. Francis' mother happened to live the ever-so busy life of a famous fashion designer. How they had ended up in America? Francis did not know, but he wished to be back in France. Mr. Bonnefoy was not in fashion design but was a rather successful business man who also traveled too often. The Bonnefoys were rolling in money although none of them were too arrogant about it. It was their lifestyle that they earned and it had caused Francis to grow up to become who he was. As a 19 year old, Francis had everything he could ever want. He was very interested in fashion like his mother and had all the resources to be one of the most fashionable and attractive young men you could ever meet. He was a fantastic cook and sang as if Harry Styles were a Disney Prince and spoke French fluently. The one thing that Francis did not have was the thing he wanted the most. That's usually the case with most things, seeing as the grass is always greener and you always want what you can't have. The one thing that Francis desired most was his acceptance letter to ESMOD in Paris. His one and only dream was to go to school at one of the best fashion design and business schools in the entire world. Plus he would be able to go to school in his true home and favorite city. The Bonnefoys still owned a charming little place in Paris that Francis got to visit often (including properties in Seychelles and Madagascar), but he still yearned to be home whenever he could.

Mr. Bonnefoy was the one home tonight for dinner. He cooked for them which was a rare thing. Francis assumed he was in a good mood tonight. The dinner table was quiet besides the sound of clinking silverware.

"Did I get any mail today?" Francis asked him.

Mr. Bonnefoy looked up over his glasses. "No." 

He looked back down at his plate and continued eating. They typically spoke French around the house but tonight Francis felt more in the mood for English.

"I will get in. I know I will." Francis said.

His father looked up again and gave him a small smile. "I know you will. You are talented." 

"Merci beaucoup." Francis grinned and finished up the last bite of his dinner.

"De rien. Travail est bonne?" His father asked him in their native tongue.

"Oui, c'est bonne." Francis said and rose from the table.

His father nodded and continued to finish his own meal. Francis left the dining room and went into the kitchen. He went over to the sink with his plate and turned the faucet on. Warm water ran over his hands as he stuck his plate in the sink. What would happen to him if he didn't get accepted to ESMOD? Where would he go and what would he do? Francis was a seemingly perfect guy but by far his worst quality was that he thought too much. 

````````````````````````

Calloused fingers shred against guitar strings. It's not about you anymore. It's not about any single person. It's about everyone together. It's about music and it's about heart and soul. It's about all that anger that builds up inside you until you feel like you're going to explode if you don't release it somehow. So you take that microphone and you scream into it at the top of your lungs because you just don't care anymore. You don't give a single fuck and the entire universe can go kiss your ass. The world is going to sit down and listen up because you've got something important to say. You don't care if they want to hear it or not because you're going to make them listen. Listen to you for once. Be in control. Be in charge. Play that guitar like it's the end of world and buildings are burning and all that's left is the music in your heart and your head. Sing like you're preaching the word of The Lord that you don't believe in. Music is your savior and you are the prophet. You are the prophet and you will scream this at the top of your lungs like there is no tomorrow. This is you. You are alive for this. This is the music that fuels every bit of your skin and bones.

Arthur had always been good at music. Band practice was the only time he wasn't angry. Band practice was when he could be furious. He was insane and nightmarish and he didn't care what anyone else thought of him. He wasn't the dirty punk kid with a broken home and a broken life. He was a prophet to those like him that were hanging by a thread. Arthur was good. He was great. Fantastic, even. He was one of the best musicians you could ever meet. He made that electric guitar sing, and growled and spat into that microphone. When Arthur Kirkland was on stage, the world stopped and listened and joined the rising chaos and anarchy. He was the embodiment of anarchy and rising against whoever told him he couldn't do something. You want to pick a fight? Go ahead and try, big shot. Go ahead and try.

"Nice work tonight guys," Arthur told them at the end of practice, "we're sounding pretty good. Friday is our gig at Iron House so I think we'll be in good shape for that."

"Are we practicing again before then?" Tino asked. 

Tino was the band's bassist. He was small but could turn frightening very quickly. He was also good at playing the bass. 

"No, we won't. The gig is in a couple days so we'll just wait to practice again until sound check." Arthur answered him.

After more words exchanged between the rest of the band, practice was over for the night. The band held practice in Tino's basement a few nights a week. They were a punk garage band but one that had actual talent. Arthur was the frontman along with another guitarist, Tino the bassist, and their drummer. Tino's basement was a good place to practice. They could get as noisy as they wanted and his basement was a pretty cool place. It reminded Arthur of his own room but less messy and much bigger. He still remembered the first little show the band had ever played here in Tino's basement. They had played Fuck Authority by Pennywise and Arthur had blown out an amp. The crowd hadn't been big but they had invited as many people as was possible to stuff into Tino's basement. It was after that show that Arthur knew he had found a good band. He had been with other bands before but this one was immediately a good fit. 

Arthur slung his guitar case over his back and went out the basement door. It lead out on to the street that Arthur had to walk down to get home. He didn't live in a city. It was the deep and dark suburbs outside of the city. It was the place where vampires hid around every corner and ghosts haunted chalk-tattooed sidewalks at night. There were plenty of hideaways and back alleys to play music and get high in the dead of the night when only the zombies were awake to hear you cry. There was some sort of connection Arthur had with his little suburban refuge at night time. The night air was cold and harsh but Arthur walked home in the presence of nonexistent stars. Down the street was a little hole where he had gotten his first piercing. Across the street there and down a ways was the record shop where he had gotten his favorite Misfits album. There were small connections that made Arthur hate his world and love it at the same time.

Getting home too late always posed the unfortunate challenge of sneaking in the window and trying not to wake up Allistor. By the time Arthur tumbled in the cracked screen, Allistor was fast asleep. He hadn't woken his fiery redheaded brother. He set his guitar case down in the corner and climbed on to his mattress to dream of smoke and stars. 

``````````````````````````

All of a sudden it was Saturday afternoon and they were sitting by the dumpsters again. They now spent almost every lunch break with each other. They didn't do much besides smoke and argue. Francis had his cheek resting in the palm of his hand with his elbow resting upon his knee. Arthur sat next to him with his knees brought to his chest and his cheeks pink as strawberries cut in half and sprinkled in your morning cereal. You'd eat this cereal with your coffee over the morning paper. Then you'd remember that life doesn't work like that and you're back to square one of sitting behind the dumpsters. 

"So you're into clothes and stuff?" Arthur asked, flicking cigarette ashes on to the damp pavement.

"It's not 'clothes and stuff.' It's fashion." 

"Whatever. Why aren't you at college? I'm sure you could afford it." 

Francis closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm still waiting for ze acceptance letter. I am taking a break year." 

"Some time off?" 

"Yes. Are you going to college?" 

Arthur shook his head. "Francis I don't even have a high school diploma." 

Francis moved his hand off his cheek and put it to his side. His fingertips brushed against the other boy's leather jacket and Francis was hit with a sense of reality. He didn't know how to put it but now that his fingers were touching the jacket and the cigarette was touching his lips and Arthur's words were touching the barrier of sound between them and everything had suddenly become too real. Francis shook his head to clear his mind of this sense of false reality and found that Arthur was still sitting there next to him.

"So you will work at Scary Goth Store for ze rest of your life?" Francis asked. 

"My band is going to make it big pretty soon so I don't worry too much." Arthur assured him.

Francis snorted. "Of course you are in a band. Do you play zaht disgusting scream music?"

Arthur's usual scowl made an expected appearance. "It's called punk rock. Not the shit that you listen to." 

"I have a great taste in music!"

"Pfft, like what? One Direction?" Arthur scoffed.

"So what if I like zem?" 

Arthur stood up and tossed his cigarette to the ground. He used his typical cool-guy move of crushing it with his boot. His cheeks were still pink and he looked more attractive than he knew. Francis rose with him only to get backed up against the dumpster. 

"Get back to me when you listen to some real music." Arthur said with a small grin playing on his face as he pushed his fist into Francis' chest.

Arthur was incredibly close and dangerous and Francis was incredibly warm and they very well could've been creating a thunder storm between them. 

"What do you consider to be real music, mon cheri?" Francis asked him and returned the grin.

Arthur pulled his fist away and backed up. He saw his life from the standpoint of hurting. He didn't want to hurt Francis right now. Arthur turned away and began to walk back into the mall. 

"The Clash!" Arthur called to Francis without looking back.

Francis went to work the next morning with his suit and tie, a cup of coffee balanced in the center compartment, and Death or Glory blasting from the car's speakers.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you're gonna scream  
> Scream with me,   
> Moments like this   
> Never last..."  
> ~ Hybrid Moments

Then it's February. Valentines Day, to be exact. Valentines Day on a Friday night and of course Francis had a hot date later. He was out of work for the day and was sitting in his car parked in the back of the mall parking lot. Arthur sat beside him. They did this a lot now. Work would end and the two of them would sit in Francis' car and listen to music. Arthur knew all sorts of music. Never before had Francis known there were so many subgenres of punk music. He didn't particularly like any of it, but seeing Arthur so invested in it was kind of cute. Today they were listening to some sort of rock and roll that Francis didn't find appealing. 

"What is zis again?" Francis asked above the music. 

"Joy Division."

Francis nodded as if he understood although there was nothing to understand. He watched as Arthur air-guitared along to the song and resisted the urge to laugh. The little punk boy in his passenger seat didn't know how silly he looked. Arthur didn't see how silly he looked playing air guitar and he didn't see how silly he looked with his new snake bite piercings or the tips of his hair he had recently dyed green. He not only looked silly but he looked cute. Arthur Kirkland looked criminally cute which was fitting because he probably had gotten arrested before. 

"Have you ever been arrested?" Francis asked.

Arthur stopped jamming out to the music and just looked at Francis blankly. 

"Why do you want to know?" 

Francis shrugged. "Just wondering." 

"Well that's none of your business." 

"So you have been arrested? What did you do?" Francis asked him, only because he knew he was getting on Arthur's nerves. 

"Don't stick your nose in other people's business." Arthur snapped. 

Francis just laughed and turned the radio down. Arthur gave him an annoyed look and crossed his arms.

"Sorry but I have to leave. Do you need a ride home?" Francis asked him.

Suddenly it was like a scene in a teen movie where they're sitting in the front seat of the guys car. The sun is setting and there's some cheesy yet popular song playing on the radio. The guys arm goes around the shoulders of the girl and they both begin to lean in. One of them says something just as cheesy as the song playing in the background. Then they kiss and the music gets a little bit louder even though neither of them turns the volume up. You can see the sparks fly, but then you realize it's just movie magic because seeing sparks in a car is probably quite dangerous and you should get out of there immediately. Then they break the kiss and look into each other's beautiful fan-fiction eyes and say something over-the-top cheesy. Alas, this is not what happens.

"No I'm all set. See you around." Arthur grumbled and got out of the car. 

Francis watched Arthur shove his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and stalk off to the other side of the parking lot. For a mere second Francis wished that he had kissed Arthur like some cheesy teen movie. Then he remembered that he would not do that and it would be stupid. To kiss Arthur would be to set the entire city on fire. It would knock the entire galaxy on to it's side and planets would fall out of orbit and the idea was so stupid Francis was stupid to have ever thought of it. He had a date tonight anyway.   
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Arthur went from sitting in Francis' car to slumping in the front seat of his brother's shit-mobile. Allistor picked him up from work almost every day and every day he did not look forward to it. Allistor drove a crappy car and listened to crappy music and was a bothersome person to be around. It didn't help that they had to share a room as well. They didn't make much conversation in the car on the way home. They didn't make much conversation at home either. Arthur didn't often talk to anyone in his family at all. He and Allistor were always exhausted and his other brothers didn't pay much mind to Arthur anyway. Just because it was Valentines Day didn't change the fact that the car ride home was uncomfortable. It didn't change the fact that Arthur had nothing to do that night. It didn't change the fact that he was going out tonight and might get arrested again and then the police would have to explain all this to his poor drunk mother who wouldn't understand a word of it. But as usual, Arthur didn't care. 

Sometimes we don't care just because we try to be independent or rebellious but sometimes we don't care because we are simply too numb to feel anything anymore. Arthur realized that this was the case for his mother and inevitably became the case for him. Maybe if he stuck another needle into his skin the world would go away. Maybe if he drank some more the world would go away. Quite possibly if he played his guitar louder and hurt somebody again the world would fade away. There was always the primal instinct to hurt somebody. Just an instinct burned into him of hatred and hurting before you got hurt yourself. Maybe if he crashed his car and cracked his skull he wouldn't wake up the next morning and his life would fade away. Arthur was too young to be feeling any of this so instead he decided to distract himself and become numb. 

Iron House was a dump. It was a dump and it smelled like shit. Arthur was a regular there and everybody thought he was old enough to be drinking there since he was 17. Allistor didn't know about Iron House and neither did anyone else besides Arthur and his select few drinking buddies. He didn't ever see these men except for nights when he ended washed up at this hole in the wall. You couldn't call it a proper bar because it was such a shit-looking place. It wasn't some kind of teenage anarchy. No, it was real. It was tough. Not just any old guy off the street wandered into the Iron House. Everybody who drank there or played pool there or just hung around there was tougher than overcooked meat paired with a side of nails. Arthur distinctly remembered his first time at Iron House. He came to see a metal group perform. He thought he was just the coolest guy around but in reality he had looked utterly ridiculous. Who did he think he was? There had only been one way to prove himself that night and that was drinking his first beer and narrowly winning his first bar fight. Everyone had been so surprised that he was accepted as an Iron House regular.

So like a typical Friday night he was sitting at the Iron House bar, sandwiched between two other burly men that looked twice his age. One of them was Rotter. Rotter obviously wasn't his real name but he was one of the closest things that Arthur would ever have to a good friend. Rotter wasn't all that much older. He was about 23 and sold cocaine and worked part time at a gas station. He bought Arthur a drink and they talked briefly. 

"So is Rebel Poison playing here any time soon?" He asked Arthur.

"We've got a gig at Curium next week." Arthur replied.

Rotter laughed at him. "Moving up in the world?" 

"Trying to." 

Arthur had grown up too fast and he knew it. Rotter knew it too. Arthur was too young to be the way he was but guys like Rotter and his band had treated him better than anyone else ever had. 

"Well, kid, good to hear it. Gonna start calling you Iggy Pop or something." Rotter laughed again and patted Arthur on the back.

"Call me Iggy and I'll cut your balls off." Arthur replied.

The two of them laughed and Rotter set his beer mug down. Iron House was busy for a Friday night. Everybody knew Arthur and knew well enough not to mess with him so nobody gave him any shit for being underage to drink. A lot of the younger guys here were fans of Rebel Poison as well and looked up to Arthur for being such a talented young guy. It went without saying that Arthur had a place here with the kind of people he knew. 

"Doin' anything fun later?" Rotter asked.

"Might start a riot." Arthur said on a completely serious manner.

"Alright well I'm gonna go kick somebody's ass over there. Have fun, Iggy." Rotter said with a chuckle. 

Rotter left him alone at the bar. There was nothing good left to do besides get up and leave. There was some music to listen to and a cigarette to smoke and a riot to start. 

`````````````````````````````

Francis took the measuring tape and wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist. He was used to doing this with customers. In order to fit somebody for a proper suit you had to take their measurements and such. It was part of working his job and future career in the fashion industry. The only thing that made it different was how uncomfortable Arthur looked with Francis hovering right around his crotch. 

"Are you done yet? This is stupid." Arthur grumbled. 

Francis looked up, baby blue eyes peering seriously over the rims of his reading glasses. He took the measuring tape away and stood up. Arthur was shirtless and looked like an unfitting piece of art in the measuring room of Armani. How Francis had managed to finally get him in here was a miracle in itself. 

"All done. Now you can look pretty when you come over for dinner tomorrow night." Francis told him, turning around to write something down on a clipboard he had.

Arthur felt his mouth go dry and his face screw up with anger. "What the hell? I am not going to eat dinner with you! Are you fucking stupid?"

Francis took his glasses off and crossed his arms. "My parents have very high expectations." 

Arthur grabbed his shirt nearby and slipped it back on over his head. "No. I don't do family dinners." 

He was about to leave in a whirlwind of typical Arthur-rage when Francis grabbed his arm. Arthur whirled around and let out a small growl. Francis knew better than to push this but he wanted to. He needed to. 

"Please, Arthur. Just one little dinner at my house." Francis pleaded. 

Arthur shook his head and yanked his arm out of Francis' grasp. "Fine. But don't expect me to be cheery about it or anything." 

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Arthur stormed into band practice the next night without his guitar. He rushed down the stairs of Tino's basement with a suit and it's hanger over his shoulder instead of a guitar case. When he made his rushed appearance the band just looked at him like he had just escaped the nuthouse. 

"Which one of you dumb twats knows how to put on a suit and tie?" He demanded.

There was a moment of silence as the band all exchanged glances. Arthur must've been going mad. He must've been losing his mind. Why in God's name would he have a suit and why would he be wanting to wear it? This was the most out of character thing Arthur had ever done in his life. The band began to laugh, for none of them could take this seriously. Not just a casual laughing. This was cracking up. They were dying. They were gasping for air. They were laughing at Arthur like he was the punchline of a Saturday Night Live skit. Arthur immediately got red faced and angry. His fists clenched around the suit and his eyebrows turned vicious. 

"Who the fuck knows how to put on a suit?" He barked.

"What do you need it for, man? Going on a hot date?" The drummer laughed from behind the kit. 

"No I've got to go impress this guy's parents and they're millionaires and I don't know a thing about suits and ties." Arthur explained, his fists still clenching the suit tightly.

There was a minute before the guitarist spoke up. "Um, did you say 'guy'?" 

Arthur shifted uncomfortably and shrugged as if to put it off that Francis was indeed a guy. "Yeah, it's a guy." 

"You're gay? Ha!" The drummer cackled with laughter. 

The entire band began to laugh and cackle like pack of stupid hyenas. They laughed and laughed as Arthur stood with the suit in his clutches and annoyance written on his face. 

"I AM NOT GAY!" Arthur yelled.

Everyone stopped laughing at once and looked at Arthur. Arthur looked about ready to pull out the knife he kept in his pocket. The band especially knew better than to mess with him when he got angry. Sure he made a good angry frontman, but he could also shank you with a plastic spork. Just as Arthur was about to continue yelling at them, a small voice spoke up from the corner. It was Tino.

"Hey guys that's not cool making fun of somebody for being gay. That's none of our business if Arthur likes guys or not." Tino said softly.

Everyone was quiet and looked at Tino with surprise. Then, he continued. 

"I mean, I won't judge. I've been in a BDSM relationship with Berwald for almost a year now. We have a great relationship and we like to-" 

"Okay, okay, enough! Tino, what the fuck?" Arthur cut him off. 

Tino shrugged innocently. "I love Berwald and he loves me." 

"Who the fuck is Berwald..." The drummer muttered from behind Arthur. 

Arthur waved his hands to signal an end to this complete mess. All he had wanted was somebody to teach him how to put on a tie. 

"Shut the fuck up! All I need is for somebody to just tell me how to tie a tie and that's it!" Arthur said. 

"Oh dude I think I can tie a knot." The guitarist piped up. 

This was going to be a long night. 

````````````````````````

This couldn't be it. Arthur must've had the wrong house. His shabby looking crap-mobile of a car crawled up the extensive driveway of the Bonnefoy mansion. Was it a mansion? Arthur believed that was the correct term for it. For all he knew it could've been the White House. He had known before that Francis was wealthy and his family was wealthy, but this was insane. These people lived in the biggest and most beautiful house Arthur had ever seen. It was like some sort of 19th century French summer home that they called the "cottage" but was a mansion in reality. What did people need this much space for? Arthur wondered if they had maids and butlers and, oh dear lord he wasn't ready for this. He got out of the car and approached the door, his hands sweating like crazy in his pockets. Arthur rang the doorbell and waited for some mustached butler to open the door. 

"You made it!" Francis beamed at him.

Arthur looked past him to catch a glimpse of inside the house. He couldn't see much because Francis had closed the door so he was standing outside on the front steps with Arthur. 

"Yeah...your house is massive." Arthur informed him. 

Francis just chuckled and waved his hand. "Zere are some things I need to tell you. My parents really do have expectations for you so just answer all ze questions with intelligent-sounding things. Okay?"

Arthur nodded. "I'll try...do I look alright? Tino helped me with the tie." 

"You look decent enough." Francis said, giving him a once over.

The truth was that Arthur did not look decent. He did not look decent or okay or alright. He looked bend-me-over-a-table-and-have-me-for-dinner fantastic. Arthur even smelled a tiny bit better, as if he had actually taken a shower.

"Good." Arthur said with a quick nod.

Francis led Arthur inside and into the kitchen where his parents were. Walking through the Bonnefoy's house was quite interesting. The outside made it look old and royal but the inside was modern. It seemed to be all open floor plan with minimalist décor. There were globes and maps and beautiful paintings that Francis must've stolen from the Louvre. Wild plants and flowers decorated blank space and filled it with color. It seemed styled ever-so-perfectly but at the same time Arthur could see this being a comfortable home. It was crisp but not so fragile that if you tossed a pillow on the ground the house would shatter into pieces. Their kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the house. The kitchen smelled like everything you could have ever dreamed of eating. It seemed like some sort of culinary professional lived here. Well, then again, Francis did live here. 

"Mama! Papa!" Francis called as he led Arthur into the kitchen. 

Monsieur and Madame Bonnefoy were everything that Arthur expected at first sight. Charming, beautiful, and very European. Mr. Bonnefoy seemed a bit more subdued than Mrs. but Arthur could instantly see that these were definitely Francis' parents. They both greeted Arthur with a double kiss on the cheek. Arthur shot Francis a look and Francis just shrugged. He couldn't help it if his parents were European. 

"Mama, Papa, zis is Arthur." Francis introduced him. 

Arthur smiled awkwardly and tried to look generally better than he actually was. "'Ello. Nice to meet you." 

Mrs. Bonnefoy gasped and took Arthur's hand. "Oh! You are English! Francis, you did not tell us your beau is English!" 

Mr. Bonnefoy muttered something unintelligible in French that Francis gave him a nasty look for. Arthur guessed that it had something to do with him being English but he ignored it. No use in starting an argument already. 

"Yes, he is English. And he is not my beau." Francis shrugged and went over to the stove to stir something in a saucepan that smelled like Heaven.

Arthur looked confused for a moment, only to then be patted on the arm by Mrs. Bonnefoy. "Francis he is very cute! I can see why you are sleeping with him!"

Francis dropped the spoon with a clatter into the saucepan and tuned around. Arthur had moved away from Mrs. Bonnefoy with a horrified look on his face. 

"You told your parents that we're having sex?" Arthur exclaimed with horror. 

"No! I didn't! I swear I didn't!" Francis cried.

Mr. Bonnefoy cleared his throat. "Let's eat." 

So thus the four sat at the elegant dining table moments later. Francis had cooked the meal and it smelled amazing. He had made a cheese soufflé and something else that Arthur didn't know how to pronounce. He didn't know how to pronounce most things in their house let alone what he was eating. 

"So Arthur, do you go to England often?" Mrs. Bonnefoy asked him. 

Francis shot him a look and Arthur cleared his throat with a nod. "Oh, yeah, loads of times." 

"And will you be attending school in England?" Francis' dad asked.

"No I don't ha-" Arthur began but was then kicked under the table by Francis.

"I'm going to Harvard." Arthur's eyes widened as the words spilled out of his mouth and on to the table and across the table cloth and would stain like the wine he was drinking for the first time. 

Francis glared at Arthur. Damn he was so stupid. Maybe if Francis wasn't being such a prick he would've just told them the truth about not going to school at all. 

"Your friend is intelligent, Francis!" Mr. Bonnefoy exclaimed with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

After this embarrassing incident, Francis somehow managed to pull everyone through to dessert. They didn't talk too much about Arthur's personal life. Instead his parents seemed fixated on the fact that Arthur and Francis were passionate gay lovers in some day-time soap opera. Luckily Francis turned their attention away from that and they talked about other things like France and their jobs and Madame Bonnefoy's travels. They talked about Milan fashion week and pretty much all of it went right over Arthur's head. Was Milan in China? Who the hell was Roberto Cavalli? Arthur just shut up and ate his dessert as the Bonnefoys chatted around him. 

When dinner was finally over and everybody somehow got out alive, Arthur had to say goodbye to the Bonnefoy family. They both gave him another kiss and Mr. Bonnefoy wished him luck in his Harvard studies. Mrs. Bonnefoy thanked him for coming and tried to ask him which sex position he and Francis liked the best. Arthur managed to make it out of the house with Francis by his side. Francis walked him to his car and opened the door for him. 

"Thank you for coming, Arthur. I'm sorry zat zey were making you so uncomfortable." Francis said. 

Arthur leaned on the car and took a deep breath. "Look, it's fine. Whatever. What did you even need me there for anyway?" 

Francis shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground. "Well, um...I told zem I had a new friend at work and zey really wanted to meet you. Zey just assume zaht we are dating. I'm very sorry." 

"Francis, it's fine. Whatever. I don't care. Just, we aren't, erm, actually dating though." Arthur said. 

"Oh no! Of course not! Zaht is just what my parents think." 

"Alright. Well this was awkward and I made a complete idiot of myself so I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow?" 

Francis grinned, looking down at his shoes. "Yes, see you tomorrow." 

Arthur drove off and Francis was left in his driveway alone. He turned to go back inside and laughed quietly to himself. It had gone better then he expected but also so much worse. They had gone from smoking behind the dumpsters to a bad episode of day time television. What a wonderful thing it was. 

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Boots weren't made for running but Arthur's sure as hell were. He could hear his heart pounding against his chest as he ran as fast as he could. There had been a fight. Arthur had made the mistake of getting into it. A typical night for him. His boots sloshed through puddles and leaped over fire hydrants as they carried him down the dark streets and into the night. The fight had broken out around the place where Rotter sold his coke. He had been there with Rotter in fact. Admittedly they had been up to some things they shouldn't have been up to, but once the fight had started Arthur had acted like a complete idiot and joined in. It had been a rough one too. His nose had started bleeding and there was blood everywhere. It had been a mess. Somebody had pulled a knife which caused everyone else to pull knives. Arthur got sliced thinly by his ear. Right as things were about to turn too dangerous, the cops came and Arthur had to get the hell out of there. He had been so stupid as to join that fight. He knew the consequences if he got caught by the police again and couldn't afford to deal with that. So he ran. 

The night outside was black and endless and Arthur feared that if he ran for long enough the streets would gobble him up into darkness. There was the impending fear that the police were seconds around the corner. There was the impending fear of his mother and of Allistor and of the entire world around him. Sometimes being alone on the street at night could bring fear and fear was everything that Arthur despised. Arthur pushed out the fear that had somehow crept in and focused on everything that hurt. His lungs hurt, his ear hurt, his nose hurt. He couldn't see much and couldn't hear much over his own breathing. Arthur continued to run, looking up at the sky and letting himself be gobbled up into the darkness.

`````````````````````````

Then they're sitting in Francis' car again. Arthur was slumped into the seat with his feet on the dash board. They were listening to music again and it was nearly the last day of February. It was cold outside but warm in the car and Arthur looked beautiful. Of course he didn't know that he looked beautiful but Francis wasn't going to tell him. He was looking out the passenger's window and the fading sunlight makes his hair look like gold. Shadows played around his neck and small creases between his eyebrows. He had the cutest freckles on his cheeks that contrasted with a scar running across the bridge of his nose. In speaking of scars, he had a new one and it was right behind his ear. Francis did not point it out.

"This is good stuff," Arthur tells Francis, "this is called horror punk."

"Horror punk?" Francis asks, finding joy in seeing Arthur so deeply fascinated and invested in this silly music. 

"Yeah. It's like punk rock but with more gore. It's inspired by horror movies and things like that. These guys, The Misfits, they dress up like zombies and Frankensteins. They're one of my favorites. See, punk rock is for people who have things to revolt against and who are in big cities where things happen. Horror punk is for the kids in the suburbs where nothing ever happens." Arthur explained to him. 

Francis nodded and listened to the song. They were talking about screaming and killing and Francis still couldn't figure out why somebody would enjoy this kind of thing. He couldn't figure out why Arthur liked it so much. 

"Get your ear sliced?" Francis asked, pointing out the scar on Arthur's ear. 

Arthur reached up and touched it. "Oh, yeah. No big deal."

"Did you get in another fight?" Francis asked. 

"Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong." Arthur snapped and looked away from Francis.

"Arthur, why do you live ze way you do? Why do you put so much metal in your ears and get so many tattoos and hurt so many people? You don't have to do all zaht." 

Arthur tensed up and turned back to face Francis. "You're such a fucking idiot. I do it because I want to. You can't tell me what to do! I'm going to live how ever the hell I want to so just shut the fuck up! Like Sid Vicious said, I'm gonna die before I'm 25 and by then I'll have lived how I wanted to." 

Francis was unflinching in this burst of emotion from Arthur. Instead of being offended, he felt hurt. He hurt for Arthur. This boy had a death wish and he was going to achieve it. He was scared and alone just as much as Francis himself was. Francis knew how he felt. There was no use in telling Arthur he was wrong or shouldn't want to die soon but Francis couldn't. Francis couldn't because he understood that futures were inevitable and nothing could be controlled. That's why he kissed him.

Arthur tangled his hands in Francis' hair and Francis had himself as close to Arthur as possible. Arthur tasted like cigarettes, as silly as that sounded because people didn't really taste like anything. He smelled like Arthur and tasted like Arthur and he was Arthur. He was everything that Francis had wondered about since he had seen Ugly Punk Boy from across the mall. He was beautiful and Francis was a romantic and he had too many tattoos and Francis loved it. He loved it more than he should've. Arthur was warm and wet and soft with sharp edges. Francis wanted all of him right at that very moment. That very moment where Glenn Danzig was begging to be given a moment of his own through the car stereo. That very moment where the universe had tipped on to it's side and galaxies were smashed into millions of tiny bits like broken glass. The world was set on fire and Francis and Arthur were watching it burn together. 

After that moment, both of them pulled away from one another. Arthur looked galactically gorgeous. His hair was more of a mess than usual and his lips were bright red, swollen and wet. His eyes were sharp and bright. Every bit of him was on a nerve ending and Francis wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to kiss him and touch him all over and get him into the backseat and do unspeakable things with him. But Francis didn't. Neither did anything for a second or two. 

"You don't have to go alone." Francis muttered.

Arthur nodded, understanding what he meant. Neither spoke another word as Arthur got out of the car and left Francis alone again. He stared out over the front window of the car and watched the sun setting over the blue hills in the distance. He was still breathing heavily and he was still thinking about Arthur. Goddamn, he would be thinking about Arthur until the day he died. Francis closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat. The radio was still playing the music that Arthur liked. Every bit of everything was still dripping with traces of that damned English boy. The Misfits were now singing about a Saturday night and coming clean for a girl named Amy. If Arthur was going to die young then Francis wanted to be with him. Life wasn't going to stop for anybody and they would all die soon anyway. Francis was going to die soon. Maybe they could live together until they died. Maybe when Arthur went, Francis could go with him.

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Francis wanted to hold Arthur's hand like child who is afraid of getting lost at the zoo. They're both kind of drunk. Not drunk. Only a little bit drunk. If somebody asked them they would both reply with 'only a little bit' so thus they deemed themselves a little bit drunk. They hadn't spoken to each other in a week and then Arthur told Francis that they were going to a concert. Francis didn't want to but seeing as Arthur went to dinner at his house it was the least he could do to repay him. 

There was the simple fact that Arthur looked great tonight. Francis was a fish out of water amongst the kids like Arthur. But Arthur fit right in. Everyone had bright hair and heavy makeup and lots of piercings. There were strange arrays to tattoos and earrings and pitch black nail polish. Ripped shirts and ripped jeans and jackets with spikes. Arthur belonged here. He didn't belong at the mall. He didn't belong at Francis' house amongst the soufflés and Gorgio Armani suits. Arthur Kirkland belonged in this world of smoke and sweat. He was wearing his own cut up black tank top that showed off his tattoo-decorated arms. He was also wearing the tightest black jeans known to man that Francis swore were created just for his perfect ass. Arthur had every single one of his piercings in, including the ear gauges. His eyeliner was so thick he looked like an angry raccoon. Francis didn't want to admit it exactly but he was head-over-heels in love with an angry raccoon by the name of Arthur Kirkland. That's the real reason why he agreed to attend this freak show of a concert. 

Amplifier feedback twisted like knives into their ears. The band had entered out on stage and the crowd was going wild. According to Arthur they weren't great but decent enough to go see a show. It also explained why this band was playing in such a dump. The venue was small and dirty and smelled like pot. It was open floor space with a bar in the back and a stage up front. The walls had peeling paint to expose brick tagged with graffiti. It was the perfect hiding spot for anyone who wished to blend in while sticking out. Amongst the noise of the crowd and the music, Arthur and Francis wove their way into the heart of the pit. 

"I am not going any further!" Francis yelled at Arthur. 

It wasn't worth trying to say anything because Arthur couldn't hear him. Nobody could hear anything except for the music. Francis and Arthur had pushed themselves into the middle of the pit where everyone was going wild. This is where Francis realized that Arthur really did walk his talk. Francis watched as every bit of Arthur that was angry at the word turned into energy. He danced and screamed and head banged along with the crowd. Francis stood almost still, not even able to move. He was drowning in a sea of sweaty bodies that thrashed and jumped around him. The band onstage began to play a song that everyone seemed to know. These misfit kids were screaming and crowd surfing and having a great time. Francis finally grasped what this was. It wasn't just because Arthur was stupid or was just some dirty delinquent. It was because this was the only way he could release emotion that built up inside him. Music was a release for him. It never would be for Francis and all he could do was watch as these kids released themselves. Any pain or anger that was held inside of them seemed to be let out and thrown into the air and smashed into oblivion by the pounding bass and shredding guitar. Arthur wasn't paying attention to Francis any more. He had ended up jumping into the mosh pit that had been started in the center of the pit. 

Francis looked around the crowd frantically to try and find Arthur. Amongst all the commotion and bodies he couldn't see any trace of Arthur near him. Backing up, Francis accidentally bumped into somebody. Of course, it happened to be one of the scariest looking people he'd ever seen. The big and frightening man shoved Francis back and gave him a nasty glare. He looked like Arthur but far bigger and with bright green hair and a black studded choker. Before the tough guy had the chance to hurt him, Francis slipped through the crowd to go find Arthur. He was still a little tipsy so looking for Arthur at a punk rock concert was difficult. He pushed his way the back of the crowd. Scanning the pit, he noticed a certain blond punk crowd surfing. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the show to end so he could meet back up with Arthur. 

Francis waited out the rest of the concert in his own safe spot at the edge of the pit. After the short hour or so, he felt as if his ears were bleeding. The world was fuzzy around the edges and it was getting far too hot. Francis didn't have to go searching for Arthur after the concert because Arthur found him. 

"Sorry you were bored." Arthur said as he approached Francis.

Both of their ears were ringing and their worlds were blurred. Francis didn't mind sitting through the concert. Arthur now looked incredible with sweat running down his forehead and arms, his hair ruffled and his eyes bright. His eyeliner was smeared and goddamn did those pants look tighter than ever. He looked filthy in the most attractive way and Francis had never wanted a person more than he wanted Arthur Kirkland. For that next moment, Francis didn't care at all about any complications between them and the world. He grabbed Arthur by the waist and pulled him close. Francis kissed him hard and messy with no restraint. Now it was his turn to release his own energy. Arthur didn't pull away from him but instead kissed back. He kissed with a sense hunger and need and Francis loved that. They were so close, their hot breath mixing between them. Then there were hands and tight jeans and the room was too hot. Once again a thunderstorm had been created between them. There was lightning then thunder then Francis grabbing Arthur's hand. 

"Let's get out of here." 

`````````````````````````

Thank God Allistor was gone for the night. It would've been terribly awkward for him to see his brother pinned on to his own mattress beneath a very horny French boy. It was the first time that Francis had ever been to Arthur's house. He had a great welcome into the home by having to climb through the window while slightly drunk and trying not to wake any of Arthur's siblings. Arthur's room, however, was perfect. It was him down to the core. The walls were covered with posters, dirty clothing and makeup was strewn about the floor. Guitar amplifiers and sheet music sat piled in a corner. A flat iron was still plugged in near a dresser that had a pentagram drawn on it with black eyeliner. Francis had jokingly asked if he planned on summoning any demons through his mirror but hadn't expected the dead serious reply he had gotten. Turns out he was some kind of demon summoner as well which was kind of sexy in a strange way. Francis had never fucked a demon summoner before. There was always a first time for everything. Well, besides this. This wasn't the first time for either of them. Francis wasn't one to pry though so he focused on getting those impossibly tight jeans off of Arthur and giving him the best partially-not-really-drunk fuck that he could. 

Thus the two of them ended up in kind of a disgusting sweaty mess while lying naked on Arthur's mattress. It was dark in his room as the moon outside cast shadows across the room and over Francis's chest as it rose and fell. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment as he listened to Francis rustle around for his lighter and pack of cigarettes. He didn't care that Francis was smoking here. Nobody would be able to smell it and if they did they would just assume it was Arthur. He opened his eyes to see Francis looking at the ceiling, cigarette hanging in his mouth and his back resting against the wall. He was beautiful but Arthur wasn't going to tell him that. He was strong and slender as if he modeled for Armani instead of folding shirts there. His hair fell around the smooth angles of his chin and cheeks where blond stubble grew. It was unfair how one person should get to be so good looking. 

"Arthur?" Francis said quietly after taking a puff of his cigarette.

"Hm?"

"What if our lives are just dreams? Like what if we do not have any real control over anything zaht we do and someday when we die we will wake up." 

Arthur just blinked and stared up at the ceiling. He folded his arms behind his head and took a deep and slow breath in. 

"I guess it could." Arthur replied. 

Francis continued on. "What if we are just asleep our whole lives and one day we get hit by a train and all of a sudden we wake up. Everybody we have ever loved would be gone. You'd be gone Arthur. When I die, you're going to be gone because you are just my dream." 

Arthur took Francis' hand and rolled over to bury his head into Francis' side. He smelled like he always did when they were sitting in the car together after work. Memories of The Clash and the Sex Pistols came back along with sunsets and car radios and thunderstorms. Francis even now smelled like he always did, dripping with cigarette smoke and cologne and sex. Arthur wanted to hide from the world and forget everything. He wanted to forget his mother and his brothers and his music and his job. He wanted to wake up tomorrow but he wanted to wake up with Francis. When they woke up, it would be together. 

"I'm not your dream, Francis. I'm not your dream unless I say I am." Arthur said with a hint of a growl in his voice. 

He didn't quite know what he meant by this but Arthur knew that he wasn't giving up so easily. He was painfully stubborn and when the two of them woke up from whatever this dream that Francis was babbling about, they would wake up together. Arthur wasn't losing Francis now. Not now. Not when Francis needed him and wouldn't exactly tell him.

"But someday I'm going to have to wake up and you're going to wake up soon Arthur. You told me you will wake up soon." Francis continued, still holding Arthur's hand. 

"Shut up. I'm not going anywhere right now. Go to sleep Francis." Arthur mumbled back.

"But then I'm going to wake up tomorrow." Francis argued. 

He had tricked himself into believing his own absurdity. Arthur had known that Francis was like this but he hadn't realized how bad it was. 

"Francis I will be here tomorrow morning no matter what. Now please just shut up." Arthur said sleepily.

He didn't hear Francis' reply because was already drifting off to sleep. It sounded silly but Arthur hoped that Francis was there when he woke up as well. He continued to clutch on to Francis' hand as he fell asleep in hopes that he would not be a dream after all.

Francis awoke the next morning with Arthur beside him.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Give me a reason  
> To stay alive.   
> I've got the feeling  
> That we're gonna die..."  
> ~ Celebrating Nothing

April came quickly, and with it, the rain. It was a Saturday afternoon that was decorated with clouds. Earth was breaking from it's shell of cold and ice and emerging more green than ever. The mud underfoot was wrapped in the delectable scent of petrichor. There was no work today and Arthur had taken Francis down to one of his favorite spots.It was along a set of train tracks that Francis had never known existed. The pair strolled down the train tracks in the dull grey surroundings of rain and clouds. There were barely any traces of snow left on the ground and any that was still left was the ugly kind of snow. Ugly snow is the kind of snow that's been there for ages and has collected all sorts of dirt and dog piss. You don't use it to build snowmen or write poems about it. Francis often feared that one day he would become ugly snow. Stuck in one place for too long, collecting so much dirt that he would no longer be beautiful enough too write poems about. He told Arthur about this on the day they walked the train tracks. 

"Stop it, Frog. You're not ugly snow." Arthur told him, walking along the tracks like a balance beam.

"But what if I become ugly snow?" 

"You won't be ugly snow. The snow's melting anyway so I don't think you've got anything to worry about." 

Arthur was often the voice of reason in situations like this. Either he understood and just wanted to get Francis to shut up, or he didn't understand at all. Francis always hoped that he understood. They kept walking. Francis glanced around at the forest lining the tracks. Gentle rain was falling and it seemed like nothing was real. This sense of unreality was common. It glazed your vision and made you feel drunk. Not happy drunk. Sad drunk. Drunk to drown your sorrows and ease the pain caused by a girl or a friend or yourself unto yourself. Unreality was even more frightening than reality. 

"This isn't real." Francis blurted out loud. 

Arthur stopped walking and looked at Francis. Francis stopped and returned the look. Francis looked handsome today. He looked handsome every day but especially today. He and Arthur were both 20 years old now since Arthur's birthday had passed. He looked 20 today and not as clean-cut as usual. You could tell that Francis hadn't shaved in a week or so and was verging on a thin beard as opposed to stubble. His hair was down, damp and a shade darker from the rain. Everything about him seemed a shade darker, even his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked him, realizing they had been staring at one another for minutes now. 

"This. This isn't real. We aren't real, Arthur. None of this is real and it has never been real. You're not real Arthur. I'm not even real." Francis told him.

Arthur shook his head. "Francis, please-"

"No. No, I'm right. Nothing is real and we're fake. This is all fake. We've been living like this for such a long time and how did we never know? My whole life has just been nothing. It's been a fake life. I have to die to leave this. If I die then I'll wake up and I'll be in the real life. Arthur, I have to die." 

Tears began to stream down Francis' face although his voice showed no sign of crying. His hands were shaking and he had to get out of here. His reality was not a reality anymore. He was going mad, he had to be going mad. This was not another breakdown. He could not breakdown in front of Arthur. It had been so long since this happened to him and he couldn't break down again now. Arthur looked at Francis crying and shaking in front of him. Without hesitation, he ran forward and hugged him. Arthur wrapped his arms right around Francis and buried his head in his shoulder. He held on to Francis and felt him bury is face into his shoulder. Francis sniffled and rest his head against Arthur in return. 

"You're not gonna die. I'm not gonna let you." Arthur said quietly, holding him tight. 

Francis continued sniffling and crying softly into the fabric of Arthur's shirt. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Francis mumbled through his tears. 

"For what?" 

"For zis. I have no reason to cry." Francis muttered and pulled away from Arthur, wiping his eyes. 

Arthur left his arms wrapped around Francis' waist and frowned at him. Francis was obviously not alright. He hadn't been okay ever since that first night they had slept together. Or even before then. He hadn't seemed alright in what seemed like ages. 20 was far too early to go through some kind of crisis. However, Arthur had a feeling that this was no crisis. 

"Francis how long have you felt like this?" Arthur asked as gently as possible. 

"Forever." He sniffed, refusing to look Arthur in the eye.

"You shouldn't be sorry, Francis. I know you're in a bad place and I'm gonna be here for you. I'm not going to die. You're not going to die. Neither of us are going anywhere right now, okay?" 

Francis hugged Arthur again. He was still crying but not as hard as before. He smelled like Francis and the rain and Arthur didn't want to let go of him. Instead of letting go, Arthur took his hand and began to lead him back down the train tracks in the direction that they came. 

"Talk to me more about this. Just tell me about it, it'll help." Arthur said.

Francis sniffed and took a breath. "It's...it's just like I never feel like myself. I never feel like anything is real anymore. Everything's just kind of grey and zere is no meaning in it. Like I am watching somebody else's life on a screen." 

"Well, there's only going to be meaning if you give it meaning. You've got to find something to give it meaning. I know it's not your fault and you're just like that but happiness takes effort." Arthur told him, giving his hand a small squeeze. 

Francis looked at Arthur who was just staring ahead as they walked. Little did Arthur know, Francis had already found something to make him happy. They were both silent for a moment as they walked hand in hand down the train tracks. The soft pitter-patter of the rain was comforting. 

"Thank you, Arthur." Francis muttered. 

"You're welcome." 

Francis now felt a bit better than before. He didn't feel unreal like he did a moment ago. Of course the feeling would come back at 2am and this time he would be all alone to handle himself.

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" Francis asked.

"Sure. Allistor has been being a prick lately anyway. Be good to get 'im off my back for a bit." Arthur replied.

"How many brothers do you have?" 

"Four. Plus me. My dad liked my mum quite a bit before he left." Arthur said with a small laugh even though nothing was funny.

"Oh I'm sorry about your dad."

Arthur glanced at Francis and shook his head. "Whatever, it's fine. Never really knew the guy even when he was around. Left my mum here and went back to England. Fucking dickhead, he was." 

"I'm sorry to hear zaht. If you don't mind me asking, how did you get all your tattoos?" Francis asked in attempt to change the subject. 

"I may or may not have used Allistor as my parent when I was 17 or so. I would ask him to sign off permission as my legal guardian and he'd let me get the tattoo. But then I got older and could get my own." Arthur told Francis. 

They talked more about tattoos and what each one Arthur had symbolized. Each seemed to be planned out and special in it's own way. Francis had never thought about getting tattoos. He had no reason to put something on his skin permanently. He also wouldn't look good with tattoos. He'd look ridiculous whereas Arthur looked like a piece of art. A surprisingly beautiful piece of art. 

````````````````````````````

It was 2am and Francis was not alone anymore. Arthur had fallen asleep next to him and yet he was still awake. He couldn't sleep tonight although he was with Arthur. It was always in the middle of the night when he began to think. He would sleep, then wake up for hours just to think, then fall back asleep. Francis was thinking about earlier that day. The rain and the feeling he got so often that nothing was real. Suddenly everything was painfully real as he lay with Arthur next to him. It was like that time when he had his hand on Arthur's jacket out by the dumpsters. Arthur was turned away from Francis, his chest rising and falling as he slept. Francis couldn't understand how he had become so attractive to him. Months before he had been ugly and frightening. The more time they spent together, the more attractive Arthur had become. Francis loved his tattoos and his eyeliner and the ripped t-shirts he wore. He loved the color of his eyes and the awful way he wore his hair and those ridiculously large eyebrows of his. Arthur was just as ugly as he had always been but now Francis saw him as being gorgeous. Bits and pieces of him were gorgeous although most of him remained ugly. 

Francis sighed and turned over on to his side. He wrapped his arms around Arthur's sleeping body and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur was skinny and it worried Francis a little bit. Everything about Arthur made him worry. Arthur had said he was going to take care of Francis but Francis had to take care of Arthur too. They couldn't just be one-sided. A relationship meant that they had to take care of each other, right? Was this a relationship? At this point Francis assumed that it was. He liked Arthur. Well, maybe more than 'like' but the other thing was too hard to say. The other thing was too hard to say and too hard to think about. Francis could tell him a year from now. Wait a little while. Wait until he was sure about everything. Not just with Arthur but with his own life. 

With one last sigh to himself, Francis closed his eyes. He immersed himself in being next to Arthur. Holding him and being with him. He was not in love with Arthur Kirkland. Francis Bonnefoy was not in love with Arthur Kirkland. He was beginning to drift off to sleep with soft sound of rain pitter-patting outside. Their legs were intertwined under the sheets and their breathing was matched. Francis could feel Arthur's heart beating under his skinny chest and hugged him closer. Francis was in love with Arthur Kirkland. 

`````````````````````````

Another afternoon spent in the mall and Arthur was bored. This level of boredom was entirely new. It was the deepest and darkest pit of boredom where only the truly bored go to lament their woes. Emo-Central wasn't busy today besides the occasional Brony or My Chemical Romance-crazed 12 year old. Since the store wasn't busy, Lukas had allowed Arthur to play whatever music he wished for the day. He was more than content with this and sat behind the counter with his MP3 on shuffle. Of course all the music was illegally downloaded but nobody had to know that. Who even payed for digital music these days? Arthur sat back and filled the store with better music than it regularly played. Lukas was always playing whiny little screamo bands that he insisted was appealing to customers. Apparently on Arthur's days off when he didn't have to work, Lukas was a fan of blasting Norwegian death metal throughout the store. Also according to mall myth Lukas had gotten in trouble with mall police for playing his music too loud. It was too bad Arthur hadn't been there. Arthur settled on The Damned and leaned back against the counter. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head for a moment to the beat. 

"What did I tell you about sleeping on the job?" 

Lukas's voice caused Arthur to open his eyes and scowl at the white haired goth. He had recently bleached out all the color in his hair and dyed it snow white. It looked rather nice along with his newest tattoo of some kind of mythological symbol. 

"I like the new tattoo, what's it of?" Arthur asked. 

"Odin's Horn. Norse mythology." Lukas said quickly, then walked away to go busy himself elsewhere. 

Arthur continued to be bored behind the counter. He glanced across the way in attempt to catch a glimpse of Francis working. Once or twice he thought he could see a flash of blond hair, but never did end up seeing him entirely. A couple girls entered the store and he helped them find Supernatural merchandise. It turns out one of the girls was quite connected with black magic and the spirit world. This created quite the conversation as they payed for their posters and t-shirts. Besides these small events of the day, Arthur was still bored. That's when Francis ran into the store and nearly jumped over the counter to greet him. 

"Eyebrows!" He yelled with excitement in his voice. 

"Don't fucking call me that, you twat." Arthur said crossly, leaning across the counter to speak with Francis. 

Francis just continued grinning. "I have big news!"

"Spit it out then!" 

"I got into ESMOD!" Francis exclaimed, a look of pure joy and excitement spread across his face. 

"Oh my god, really?" Arthur said with slight disbelief. 

"Oui! I am going home, Arthur! I can go to Paris again!" He cheered, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

Arthur shrank back and rubbed his cheek, praying that nobody saw that. He was embarrassed but happy for Francis. He didn't scold him for the kiss and instead tried to be as happy as possible. It wasn't fake, for he was truly overjoyed for Francis. 

"That's fantastic! When are you going?" Arthur asked.

Francis bounced around with excitement like a little puppy. "I'll be leaving in August." 

"I've got an idea. Let's celebrate tonight. Come to my show and then we can get dinner or something, on me." Arthur offered.

Francis stopped bouncing around and leaned across the counter with a hand on his cheek. "Are you asking me on a date, Arthur Kirkland?" He asked, wriggling his eyebrows. 

Arthur blushed slightly and began to cough. He cleared his throat and scowled as he normally did. He crossed his arms and tried to look extra unpleasant. 

"Of course not, why the fuck would it be a date? I mean, unless you want it to be..." Arthur said, looking away from Francis almost shyly.

"When will you be picking me up, mon cheri?" Francis asked, jokingly batting his eyelashes. 

"Seven, and don't wear anything stupid." Arthur growled.

Francis waggled his fingertips as a farewell to Arthur and waltzed back across the mall to Armani. Arthur grimaced and leaned back against the counter. He was excited about Francis' success but now he thought they were really going on a date tonight. Francis would probably hate the concert anyway and then their official "first date" would be a mess. Hopefully Francis wouldn't hate the show...hopefully.

`````````````````````````

Arthur was true to his word and picked Francis up at seven o'clock sharp. In the darkness of the car, Francis could tell that Arthur looked hot tonight. Hotter than usual, and it was probably because of the makeup and hair. The car ride wasn't silent as NOFX blasted from the radio. Francis was proud of himself for recognizing one song. Arthur didn't sing along as usual because he was saving his voice for the show. He wouldn't want to ruin his voice this early in the night. The two of them got to the venue right on time. It was kind of a dump like where Arthur took Francis to see his first show. To a small punk rock band like Arthur's, it was a pretty big venue. For once it wasn't the Iron House or another hole-in-the-wall bar. This was a full-blown venue and Arthur was eager to tear the roof down and make a good impression. He entered through the back door with Francis and went backstage to where the band was setting up. One by one, Francis was introduced to the band.

"Oh, so you're Arthur's boyfriend? It's nice to meet you! My boyfriend is here tonight too." Tino greeted Francis while shaking his hand vigorously.

Francis grinned and was filled with a little fuzzy feeling when Tino called him Arthur's boyfriend. He was then greeted by a large and stony-faced man who introduced himself as Berwald, Tino's boyfriend. The band left to go warm up before the show started and Francis was left in uncomfortable silence with Berwald for a few minutes.  
The two of them would be watching from backstage tonight. Arthur requested it because he knew Francis didn't like the crowds and would have a far better view of the band from backstage. Francis was happy with being backstage for all the reasons Arthur assumed he would. Punk rock wasn't and never would really be his thing but Arthur was most definitely worth taking an interest in. Some people working backstage told Francis and Berwald that the show was about to start and led them to the side of the stage to watch. Francis peeked out beyond the stage, his eyes widening with surprise. The entire place was packed with people. It looked like a real punk rock concert and Francis began to feel excited. That's when the band entered from the other side of the stage. 

Arthur ran out last, going right up to the microphone. The crowd seemed enthusiastic. The venue was filled with yelling and cheering and all sorts of excited energy. Francis was watching it all happen from his own little hiding place backstage. Out on stage they began to play their first song. The beginning was good but the crowd really started going crazy when Arthur came in with the vocals. Francis stood frozen to the stop, his eyes glued to Arthur. He had never payed much attention to how good he was. Arthur sang wonderfully with the growling and angry style of the old punk bands they listened to together after work. His voice was higher pitched but still plenty angry and filled with brilliant emotion that he brought to the performance. Not only was he a good vocalist, but the best guitarist Francis had ever heard. Arthur was a guitar god. He played masterfully like he had been born with a six string in his hands. Arthur was a silly punk boy and a demon summoner and a weirdo and an outcast. He was a smoker and a druggie and a loser and an asshole. But above all he was a musician. He was truly a musician, and a talented one at that. After the first song ended, Arthur got up to the mic and introduced the band to the crowd. He was so cute Francis couldn't help but laugh. 

After introducing themselves, the band launched back into playing. They played mostly their own original songs. These songs were good and had lyrics speaking classically of rebellion and danger. Francis was amazed at how the crowd reacted. They seemed to love the music as there was crowd surfing and cheering and even moshing going on in the back of the pit. The band was giving an amazing performance tonight. Each musician was a talented guy, but Arthur stood out. He put on a captivating performance that made even Francis want to dye his hair and pierce his lip. Arthur jumped around stage with his guitar like a wild animal. He riled up the crowd into absolute pandemonium and Francis felt a small sense of pride for Arthur. 

There was also the matter of Arthur looking deliciously attractive tonight. About halfway through the set he was sweating buckets yet looked incredibly gorgeous. Each piercing was in, his hair was spiked up in the front, and his eyeliner was dark and heavy. Sweat glistened down his tattooed arms and chest as he jumped around the stage. Arthur we wearing a cut up black tank top with the Misfit's skull on it, his black boots, and tight leather pants. Wait, hold on. Francis looked again and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Leather pants? How had he not noticed before in the car or backstage. He was wearing goddamn leather pants and his ass looked amazing. Francis was undeniably turned on. 

"Alright, alright. Listen the fuck up for a minute!" Arthur called for the attention of the crowd as the set was winding down. 

He grabbed the microphone and continued, looking out into the crowd. "This next song we're gonna play is a classic by one of my favorite bands, The Damned. I've been practicing it for someone watching tonight. This one's for you, ya fucking frog-face." 

Francis felt his heart stop for a moment when he realized that "frog-face" was him. They began to play a quick and violent song that sounded much like the kind of music Arthur showed Francis all the time. Francis felt his heart beating against his chest and butterflies in his stomach as he listened intently to them play the song.

"I'll be the ticket if you're my collector  
I've charge the fare if you're my inspector  
I'll be the luggage if you'll be the porter  
I'll be the parcel if you'll be my sorter

Just for you here's a love song  
Just for you here's a love song  
And it makes me glad to say  
It's been a lovely day  
And it's okay..."

Francis watched them perform the song just for him. Watching Arthur play this perfectly out-of -tune little punk love song made his heart swell. Francis loved this stupid musician more than he had loved any boyfriend or girlfriend before. It was strange how music could make it's way into your heart so quickly but Francis knew that this was a song he would always love. After this performance, the song could pop up on the radio and he would fall in love all over again. Once the song was over, the crowd roared and they launched into their final song. 

The final song seemed to be a song that everybody in the entire place knew. As soon as Arthur began to sing, every single person in the venue began to sing along. The place had erupted with noise. Suddenly Francis was transported back to that night he spent with Arthur at the concert. Sweating, bass pounding, surrounded by bodies. Colored hair and black clothes and a vow to never conform to any authority. When authority said no, you said fuck off. When somebody talked shit to your face or made unfair rules or oppressed you, you told them to fuck right off. It was an energy that was impossible to describe in words. It was a feeling that rose up your chest and into your fists and throat. One that made you fight and scream until there was no more fight left in you. Arthur was the embodiment and spirit of this. 

Tonight he we the prophet to the crowd of listeners yearning for a sign that they were not alone. They were not alone and they were part of a revolution for themselves. A revolution to not be afraid anymore. Maybe Arthur himself wasn't afraid anymore. When he was up on stage preaching, he wasn't afraid anymore. He wasn't afraid of his brothers and his deadbeat mother and his nonexistent father. Arthur Kirkland was not afraid of a single thing in the whole goddamn universe and he was going to make that known no matter how hard he had to try to get them to listen. This was it and they were listening.

After the show ended, Francis couldn't wait to see Arthur. He waited outside the venue for a few minutes. It was a warm night of mid-May and you could smell spring heavily in the air. Francis was about to light himself a cigarette when Arthur came out the back door with his guitar on his back. Francis immediate wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him in close. Before Arthur could start his grumbling, Francis kissed him. They stayed lip-locked behind the concert venue for a moment before Francis finally broke the kiss. 

"You were amazing." Francis breathed and leaned his forehead against Arthur's.

"Thanks. I was hoping you would like it." Arthur said back, his voice hoarse. 

"Like it? Arthur, I loved it. And zaht song for me...I loved it." Francis laughed. 

"Really? Was it okay?"

"Arthur, I loved it. I loved ze song and I loved ze show and I love you." Francis said.

As soon as the words had tumbled out of his mouth, Francis realized what he said. He felt himself begin to blush and he wished he could slap himself. Panic overtook him as he braced himself for what was to come. He had said it too early. He wasn't supposed to say that yet. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What if Arthur didn't love him back? What a stupid thing he had said. Arthur was going to think he was even more of an idiot now. 

Arthur could feel himself turn slightly red as well and cleared his throat. "I love you too, Francis."

Francis grinned goofily and took his boyfriend's hand. They held hands as they walked back to Arthur's car in the dark. Both had butterflies in their chest as if they were 15 again and holding somebody's hand for the first time. There was no one alive that could make Arthur feel like that besides Francis. Francis glanced at Arthur when they got back in the car and started to drive. He recalled what Arthur had said about finding meaning in life. It had been a month since his last breakdown. He had gotten his letter to ESMOD. He told Arthur he loved him. Francis was walking on air with Arthur in his arms. Neither mentioned it, but they both knew they wouldn't be going to dinner. There was a big and empty bed waiting for them back in Francis's room and it would be occupied until morning. 

````````````````````````

May had gone by as slow as a snail. It was like a long yet intriguing book and it was finally the last chapter. More specifically, the last Friday. A Friday evening after work at the mall meant sitting in Francis' car, as usual, getting high and listening to music. Arthur was happy tonight. This was a rarity because he was never really able to say he was happy. It may have just been because they were smoking weed but deep down Arthur felt happy. Or at least he wanted to. Francis was happy that night as well. Both felt better than they had in a long time. It was safe to say that they were in some kind of relationship now. Francis was leaning across the front seat with his head in Arthur's lap while his boyfriend played with his hair. The sunset was a sight to be seen that evening. Oranges and pinks and deep blues colored the sky like an oil painting. Francis closed his eyes and thought about Paris. Oh how he would miss this when he left at the end of summer. 

"We still have summer together." Francis mumbled, his eyes still closed. 

"Yeah, we do. We've still got to work though." Arthur replied, his fingers twirling around a lock of Francis' hair like a fork twirling spaghetti. 

"But we can still do zis." 

Francis sat up and turned around to face Arthur again. He took Arthur's face in his hands and kissed him. Arthur kissed him back. There was a bit of fumbling around before Francis was pulled on to Arthur's lap, sandwiched between the dashboard and his lover. Whatever was on the radio provided a background hum as they kissed. Hands went under shirts, making contact with the bare skin. Proximity was only a false boundary now. Francis smelled wonderful and felt wonderful sitting on Arthur's lap. Arthur kept him pressed against the dashboard and kissed him more gently than normal. The entire ordeal was turning into something quite slow yet needy and wanting. Desperation was like a drug of it's own for the both of them. Just to know that you were needed was enough. 

Front seats melted into backseats to accommodate what passed for love-making. Close your eyes and remember what it's like to feel young. To feel so young and to feel invincible. Hands, legs, tight jeans and long golden hair. To have sex in the backseat of a car that smells like weed with a boy that smells like flowers. Years will pass and there will be a time when Arthur would forget most of his life. He might forget his job or his old bedroom or his old friends. Francis Bonnefoy was unforgettable. Arthur could have a billion other lovers and would always remember Francis. His smell, his looks, his goofy little laugh. The night they ate dinner at his house and the night they walked the train tracks. Arthur wasn't going to forget each little hybrid moment even if he tried to scrub it off his brain. 

When it had all worn away and they were left beautifully breathless, Arthur sat up and put his shirt back on. He looked over to Francis who looked as beautiful as ever. His chest rose and fell slowly as he gazed out the window at the sunset. If only the rest of the world could know what truly went on in the gorgeous head of his. Arthur knew all of it and was willing to go go the ends of the earth to protect it. But Francis didn't need anyone to protect him. The truth was that he was not as breakable as he seemed. Francis was made of iron and Arthur knew it. That man had such a big heart and such a beautiful mind and every minute he spent thinking life was worthless was a moment wasted. 

"You're important, Francis." Arthur thought aloud. 

Francis turned and smiled softly. "Merci." 

Seeing him smile was brilliant. Arthur smiled back, then opened the car door. "It's Friday night. I'm going out. Wanna come?"

"No, I'm just going to go home. Have a good time and be careful." Francis told Arthur, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

"Alright don't need to get so damn sappy. I'll see you around, frog." Arthur said with a grin and got out of the car. 

It was spring. It was spring, it was a Friday night, and he had just gotten laid in the backseat of his boyfriend's car. Arthur instinctively pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit himself one. He strolled down the mall parking lot to where his car was, smoking and humming a tune. Feeling good was rare and you must take life's rarities as they come so that you do not waste them. Rarities are, well, rare. There was no reason to feel sorry for anything tonight as there was no reason to feel sad at all. No reason to be afraid and no reason to feel angry. It was a night to burn brighter than sun and Arthur could feel it deep in his bones and in the pit of his stomach. He was as young as the night and was going so fast and there was no reason to slow down now. 

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Saturday afternoon. The mall was busy. Armani was busy and Francis was busy. He could not stop thinking about Arthur. He would go and see his boyfriend during his short break time. Maybe they could go smoke behind the dumpsters like they normally did. Francis stayed very busy throughout work though and even got a compliment from Lovino. Such compliments were hard to learn. Perhaps Francis had begun to take work more seriously now than ever before because he needed all the money he could get for university in the fall. Of course the Bonnefoy's had more than enough money but a little self-earned cash could always be a benefit. The only things on Francis' mind anymore were Arthur and University in the fall. He would get to spend summer with his lover and then travel home to the best fashion school in the world. He didn't know how well he would be able to keep in touch with Arthur. Maybe someday they could move to Paris together. Francis daydreamed about this as he worked up until his break. When that time came, he couldn't wait to go see Arthur. 

Francis hurried across to Hot Topic so that he could surprise Arthur. When he got into the store, however, Arthur was not there. Instead there was a police officer talking to Lukas. Lukas looked more solemn than usual. When he spotted Francis, he said something to the officer and the officer turned to greet him. 

"Francis Bonnefoy? We've been looking for you. Please, come with me sir." The officer said. 

Before Francis could ask why, he was whisked away by the officer. He was led down toward the part of the mall where the mall cops had their office space. He was led into a small office where he was sat down in a chair. The officer sat down next to him.

"You are Arthur Kirkland's boyfriend, correct?" The officer asked. 

Francis nodded and swallowed. "Officer, please, if he did anything I'm sorry I'm sure he didn't mean it-" 

"No, it's okay, Francis. I do bring some unfortunate news though." The officer cut him off. 

Francis felt his mouth go dry as a serious look crossed the officer's face. 

"Arthur Kirkland's body was found early this morning. He died last night from a cocaine overdose. Apparently one of his 'friends' was a dealer and we are currently searching for him." 

Francis shook his head. "No, officer, zaht cannot be right."

"I'm sorry mister, b-"

"No. No. Zis isn't right." Francis said.

"Mister-"

Without paying any attention to the officer, he jumped out of the chair. It felt like he was a ghost looking at himself from the outside. Suddenly the world seemed to stop moving as there was nothing anymore. Francis ran. He ran out of the mall and he didn't care how many people were looking at him. He ran as fast as he possibly could. Francis ran out of the mall and to his car. Just yesterday Arthur had been sitting in the passengers seat. They had been together here just yesterday. This wasn't right. Arthur probably just skipped work for the fun of it today. Francis would go find him. He was probably at home. Or maybe behind the dumpster smoking his cheap cigarettes. 

Francis started the car's engine. He knew where Arthur was. Arthur was at the train tracks. The train tracks were his favorite spot. He remembered from the day the walked there together. Francis drove. He began to drive quicker. Driving as fast as he possibly could. He could feel his heart racing in his chest as if his body had forgotten to function. This was not happening. It would be okay. Arthur was just at the train tracks. They would be together again soon. 

Francis drove like a blur down to the forest where the tracks started. Once he parked his car and got out and began to run. He ran and ran as fast as he possibly could. He didn't care that mud was getting on his nice shoes and pants. He honestly didn't give a single damn in the entire world. All he did was run. The train tracks and the forest around it were a blur as Francis ran as fast as he had ever ran in his life. 

"Arthur! Arthur!" He yelled into the open air, hoping his lover would hear him. 

Francis continued to run and yell. The rest of the world suddenly began to fade and he felt himself slowing. That familiar sense of unreality was creeping into his brain. It was like being forced underwater and fighting to come back up for air. Francis needed to fight it. He could not break down now. He had to keep running. He didn't know how long he had been running through the woods until it was about sunset. The sky was just as beautiful as the night before but Francis didn't notice. He kept running. 

"Arthur! Arthur!" He continued to yell. 

Francis kept running for a few more minutes before he slowed to a stop. Things were beginning to fade away from him. It was as if the world wasn't real anymore. He wasn't real anymore. Nothing existed. He didn't exist. This life was not real and nothing was. It was all just a dream as he had predicted. The world was fake. This was all fake. Francis had to wake up. It was just a matter of waking up. His vision blurring even more, Francis lay down on the train tracks and closed his eyes. He was crying but he almost couldn't feel it. It was as if the entire world had gone numb. Everything was numb. He wasn't alive and nothing felt real anymore. He needed to wake up and he needed to find Arthur and dammit, Francis needed Arthur. He needed Arthur so badly right now. That bastard had woken up without him. He promised. He promised he wouldn't leave. He said they would wake up together.

"FUCK YOU!" Francis screamed into the night. 

Fuck Arthur. Fuck him and fuck this and fuck everything else. He hadn't kept his promise. He promised he would be there. He promised they would wake up together. They had made a deal that they would wake up together. Arthur said he wasn't going anywhere and that they would wake up together. Why did he lie? Why did he go and break his promise? Francis felt the anger bubble up inside him as he cried, still lying on the train tracks. This life was just a lie. This was a lie and Arthur had lied to him. 

Francis sniffed but he couldn't stop crying. He just wanted somebody there again. He opened his eyes only to find that he was still alone. Tears streamed down his face as he lay waiting to be woken up by that train that would bring him back to Arthur. He couldn't do this on his own. He needed to be with Arthur again and tell him. Tell him he broke his promise. Francis wanted to scream again but there was nothing left. There was no more fight left. He closed his eyes and waited to wake up. 

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Francis Bonnefoy stood in the airport, his hand clutching the handle of his suitcase. The airport was crowded today in the heat of late August. It was still early in the morning but Francis wasn't tired. He had woken up at four o'clock that morning, downed a cup of coffee, and rushed to the airport with Antonio and Gilbert. He was there now in the airport with his best friends and his parents. Gilbert was playing some game on his phone and Antonio was chatting up some foreign girl and her friend. Mr. Bonnefoy sat drinking his own cup of coffee. The only one really paying attention to Francis was his mother. She sat beside him and held his hand. He didn't care how childish it looked. Holding his mother's hand was the most comforting thing he had now. It had been comforting when he was in the hospital, it had been comfortable at the funeral. Now that he was stable enough to travel to the school of his dreams he needed his mothers comfort more than ever before. 

The past few months had been the worst of Francis' life. He had ended up in the hospital after trying to take his own life. Once he was professionally diagnosed with everything he had already knew he had, Francis was out on medication and sent to therapy and the whole deal. Everybody continued to treat him as if he were a bomb that could blow up any second. Even now at the airport his parents looked as nervous as ever. All the therapy and medication had made him better. Well at least his parents thought so. Maybe Francis did too. Sometimes when things get too difficult you have to trick yourself into a false sense of happiness. Maybe if you could trick yourself into being happy then happy would become real. 

Francis recalled Arthur and everything that he had said about being happy. Happiness takes effort. You have to find the meaning in your life. Francis tried not to think about Arthur as much anymore. Days would go by and he wouldn't think about him anymore. He wouldn't smoke for days. Francis would banish every thought of him possible. He would trick himself into being happy because that's all you can really do. When you're taken from the hospital and to your boyfriend's funeral that's all you can really do. Francis didn't think about Arthur for days on end until finally he would wind up in his room, his brain warped from medication, and he would cry as every thought of Arthur would creep back into his head. 

It was over now. He was done with that part of his life and it was over and done with and he didn't think about it anymore. Francis would be okay. If you keep telling yourself everything is going to be okay then maybe someday you will really believe it. Francis believed it as he sat there in the airport clutching his suitcase and his mother's hand. He was off to Paris for school like he dreamed of for years. There was no more job at Armani at the mall. There was no more hospital and therapy. He could take care of himself now and everything was going to be okay. Francis took a deep breath as he repeated this to himself. Happiness takes effort. Happiness takes effort. Happiness takes effort. 

"Alright mon petit chou, it is time for you to catch your flight." Mrs. Bonnefoy said, standing up and releasing Francis' hand. 

Francis stood up with her. It was time for him to leave. Time for him to move on from this place and go somewhere new. Somewhere where nobody knew him and nobody cared. Hugs were exchanged all around. Antonio wished him luck and so did Gilbert. They hugged again and promised to keep in touch. Francis bud farewell to his weeping mother and his father who was not weeping at all. They all hugged once more and that was that. 

Francis boarded the next flight to Paris. He was homeward bound after all these years. Once he found his seat, he sat down and gazed out the window. There was a big world out there waiting for him. No more Armani and train tracks and car sunsets. It was all gone. But Francis was okay now and that was all that mattered. He was going to find the meaning in his life once again and this time it would be permanent. Repeating over and over, happiness takes effort. Francis put in his earbuds and turned his iPod on for the long flight home. He closed his eyes and leaned back, The Clash blasting in his ears. 

There's only going to be meaning if you give it meaning. Find your meaning.


End file.
